


it’s a hell of a feeling though

by Elsinore_and_Inverness



Category: Discworld
Genre: #hands, #love confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:13:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23737408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsinore_and_Inverness/pseuds/Elsinore_and_Inverness
Summary: Sequel to Iron and Clay (you can read it by itself)Drumknott gets Vetinari to post the letter
Relationships: Havelock Vetinari/Samuel Vimes
Comments: 4
Kudos: 48





	1. Daydream

Now the Patrician was staring out the window, almost—if Drumknott didn’t know better—dreamily. 

It was alarming. Drumknott sighed.

It was thrilling to watch Sir Samuel stirring things up. He was good at it. So passionate. So incisive. 

Come to think of it, he was actually a bit clingy. He looked _pleased_ when Vetinari asked him to do things and show up places. That couldn’t be right. 

“You’re enjoying yourself,” Drumknott said.

The Patrician stopped smiling quite so much. “Maybe a little bit.”

“That’s good to see.” And it was, or it would be if there wasn’t... slippage. Some of Vetinari’s thoughtful silences these days were unproductive. He looked into the middle distance or a bit of the wall and looked startled when he was interrupted. No one would dare suggest that he was daydreaming, but Drumknott saw the flicker of embarrassment that he hid with total competence.

“Do you still have that letter, Drumknott?”

“The one you told me to take so you wouldn’t burn it?”

“Yes.”

“I have it.”

“I think you should burn it.”

Drumknott sighed again. “May I speak frankly, sir?”

“I would not have you not.”

“I think you are being a bit selfish, sir. I think it has not occurred to you that Commander Vimes may return your feelings and consequently you are nursing a fantasy rather than dealing with the reality.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. 

“Do you know something I don’t?” Vetinari asked mildly.

“Is that a rhetorical question?”

Vetinari pulled the chair back from the desk and sat down. “Commander Vimes is a married man.”

Drumknott raised an eyebrow. “Am I mistaken in thinking that you had a long conversation* with his wife last month regarding this state of affairs?”

“Yes, but that’s different. I’ve known Sybil for decades. Since childhood, practically. I’ve made a point of being honest with her.”

“Whereas you’re not honest with Sir Sam which is why you’re having such a hard time.”

“I am not having a hard time.”

“I could post the letter, you know.”

Vetinari looked up at the clerk, his gaze suddenly soft and affectionate. “What did I do to make you care about me so much?”

Drumknott accepted his warmth like granite in the sun, but what he said was “Every minute you spent imagining riding off into the sunset on a swamp dragon or gods know what is a minute I have to pick up the slack.”

“At least let me rewrite it first, I have more to say.”

*Lady Sybil, brightly, over a cup of tea: “You may want to move ‘subtlety’ further down your CV, Havelock,” “I can call it a _ménage à trois_ if I want to,” “No that’s not a sex thing, sweetheart,”


	2. Message Received

Sam Vimes was surprised, but not _that_ surprised. He was more nervous than anything, really. Effusive was not Vetinari’s style... at least not eighty percent of the time. What had gotten into him?

He re-read some of the more badly poetic bits. It was from the Patrician, alright. No one else would use pharmaceutical terms to describe the weather in a love letter. He felt indignant at the “I’ve discussed this with Sybil” paragraph. Those two were always planning things behind his back. And never telling him anything. Sure, they might send him a memo or a letter but they knew he never got around to paperwork until it was too late.

He checked the date the letter was posted. 

Oh shit. 

He thought back to his meetings in the Oblong Office three weeks ago. They had gone the way they had been going for months. Vetinari harried and serious, but in a way kind of sparkly and half-flirtatious, stealing glances and moments of eye contact. 

He’d asked him to stay after the meetings and Vimes had asked “What was it you wanted to discuss?” Or some variation thereupon.

The Patrician had gotten a bit chillier after that. Vimes had assumed it was because he, Vimes, wasn’t doing anything particularly clever or interesting. 

Vetinari must think he was ignoring him. Either that or that he was a total incompetent that couldn’t even read his mail. 

He scanned the letter again. In the second to last paragraph he had written “Thank you for entertaining this foolishness. You are under no obligation to respond in any way. This was very difficult for me to write and I hope you will forgive the breach of professionalism.” 

He stared at the paper for several more minutes. His heart ached. He’d gotten much more comfortable around Vetinari and he knew he liked having him around. He suspected the Patrician was as terrified of jeopardizing that as he was, but emotions as overwhelming as what was laid out in this letter only came around two or three times in a lifetime.

He shoved the letter in his pocket, pulled on his cloak and ran out the door.

He had timed it well. The Patrician was between meetings.

Hearing the sound of running footsteps, Vetinari called “Come in.”

A slightly out-of-breath Sam Vimes pulled open the door. “I got your— I read the—“ He pulled out the letter and waved it in the air. 

Vetinari froze. “Drumknott, could you excuse us a moment?”

Drumknott gave Vimes an utterly delighted grin and scurried out the door.

“It’s alright.” Sam told the still-frozen Vetinari. “I love you too, all that.”

He realized Vetinari was breathing rather shallowly and reached for his hand. Vetinari moved away as though he had been burned. 

“This is somewhat overwhelming, Vimes. I think I’m going to sit down.”

Vetinari put his elbows on the table and his face in his hands and closed his eyes. He could feel Vimes’ presence, hovering and concerned. 

“Lord Vetinari?” Sam asked softly. 

“I’m alright.” Slowly, Vetinari reached his hand across the table, palm up. An invitation. Vimes took it gratefully. The Patrician’s hands were warm and dry, the fingerprints nearly worn away from years of turning pages. Sam lightly ran his thumb over his bony knuckles. It was just like Vetinari to not even think about using lotion. His hands must bleed in the winter. Vimes’ hand was strong and calloused, yet soft and Vetinari couldn’t help feeling like that was what what a hand was _supposed_ to feel like, as opposed to his own spidery assemblage of bones that could fold up and slip through a handcuff. 

They stayed like that for several minutes and when Vimes looked up he saw Vetinari’s cheeks were glistening. 

“I’ve got you. You know I’ve got you.”


End file.
